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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954884">For Every Bird There Is A Stone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawsofchaos/pseuds/lawsofchaos'>lawsofchaos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consular High Warlock Magnus Bane, Downworld Politics, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Winged Alec Lightwood, Wingfic, Worldbuilding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:07:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawsofchaos/pseuds/lawsofchaos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec immediately regrets the instinctive shift of his feathers, knowing how many Downworld throats have been slit open on nephilim wings, knowing how many times Magnus and his council must have <i>seen</i> that happen. But what’s done is done and moving them back would do nothing. Alec comes to a halt at a respectful distance from the High Warlock and waits. His arrival was without notice and is certainly unwelcome. By both nephilim and Downworld custom the next move belongs to Magnus alone. </p><p>“Tell me, Alexander Lightwood,” Magnus begins icily, and it’s no surprise that he knows Alec’s name. “What brings the Head of the New York Institute to my door, unarmed, runes inactive, and completely alone?” </p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>735</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Wingo Summer</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. For every bird there is a stone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_Lerendeair/gifts">Aria_Lerendeair</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Timeline What Timeline has devolved into Canon What Canon for this fic.</p><p>Also, this fic is completely unconnected with 'A Man Never Stands Taller' except for the idea of High Consular Warlock Magnus Bane. Enjoy!</p><p>A HUGE thanks to <b>AceOnIce</b> for her fabulous beta work!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>For Every Bird There is a Stone</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Life is short, though I keep this from my children. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine </em>
</p><p>
  <em> in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least </em>
</p><p>
  <em> fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative </em>
</p><p>
  <em> estimate, though I keep this from my children. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world </em>
</p><p>
  <em> is at least half terrible, and for every kind </em>
</p><p>
  <em> stranger, there is one who would break you, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> though I keep this from my children. I am trying </em>
</p><p>
  <em> to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> walking you through a real shithole, chirps on </em>
</p><p>
  <em> about good bones: This place could be beautiful, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> right? You could make this place beautiful. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> ~ </em>Good Bones by Maggie Smith</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Alec is alone when he arrives at Pandemonium. </p><p> </p><p>The absence of Jace and Isabelle at his back prickles down his spine, but he makes himself move without a moment of hesitation towards the club’s entrance, towards enemy territory. There’s only so much time before the Clave realizes he and his siblings have left the Institute, and possibly even less time before that realization will no longer matter.</p><p> </p><p>Pandemonium has become the main seat of power for New York’s Downworld. Valentine’s rise, and the systematic oppression that only grew after his death, had forced an unprecedented cooperation among the Downworld races. In New York, this means the vampires and the wolves have come together under the banner of Magnus Bane, the infamously powerful High Warlock of Brooklyn and the rumored Consular Warlock of the Americas. His club, his territory, is Downworld ground and nephilim are not welcome. </p><p> </p><p>Alec allows himself one last instant to breathe, to gather his determination around himself as a shield, before he slips into the line of mundanes queuing before the doors. He’s glamoured from their eyes, but he moves strategically to use the bulk of winter coats being shed and the press of excited bodies to hide himself from the two werewolf bouncers outside the door. He needs an audience with Magnus Bane and he won’t get it if they stop him here. Inside, he’s betting the High Warlock’s curiosity will be enough to get him at least a moment of his time. </p><p> </p><p>A moment is all he needs.</p><p> </p><p>His cover holds and Alec makes it into Pandemonium, something loosening fractionally in his chest. He doesn’t even attempt to make it past the two guards inside the door, he just straightens to his full height and waits. The mundanes can’t see him, but his glamour doesn’t hide him from anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>It takes less than a heartbeat for the guards to notice him, their reaction catching the attention of a group of vampires nearby. The vampires’ reaction spreads in a ripple from group to group until every Downworld eye is turned in his direction. </p><p> </p><p>The club falls into an eerie half-quiet at the sight of a marked Shadowhunter, the Head of the regional Institute no less, waiting in the doorway, wings mantled and tense behind his back. </p><p> </p><p>Cautiously, Alec extends his hands to his sides. He is conspicuously unarmed. </p><p> </p><p>The club grows even quieter, the hum and murmur of mundane voices lessening slowly in response to the uneasy tension, even the throbbing dance music ebbing into a barely there presence in the background at the DJ’s cue. The lights are still pulsing in a jarring contrast against the sudden cessation of sound. The mundanes begin to feel the tingling of the wards pushing them out, not sure why they want to cut their night short mid-drink and mid-dance, but leaving nonetheless.  </p><p> </p><p>Alec waits where he is, an unmoving statue, until the last of the steady stream of mundanes exit behind him, their eyes passing unseeing over him as they go. Only the High Warlock can manipulate the wards here and Alec knows he has the attention of the man he came to see.</p><p> </p><p>Pandemonium’s two line bouncers slip inside and lock the main doors behind them, aware of his deception now. The hairs on Alec’s neck twitch at having them armed at his back. He keeps his gaze forward nevertheless, focused intently on Magnus Bane. The High Warlock is seated on a couch-turned-throne in the VIP balcony section, the pictures from the Clave’s file not doing justice to the way Magnus so effortlessly turns this club into his court.</p><p> </p><p>The crowd parts for Alec as he finally moves forward, their eyes accusing as they pass between his runes and his wings. Alec’s palms have never itched so badly for the familiarity and security of his bow in hand and a quiver strung over his shoulder. </p><p> </p><p>As he moves steadily closer and Magnus Bane rises to stand in front of his throne, several individuals Alec recognizes from the Clave’s files, his council, move subtly into position behind him. </p><p> </p><p>The strobes have finally stopped pulsing in time to the now silent music, the house lights rising enough to illuminate the club while leaving pockets of deep shadow all around. Catarina Loss is still in scrubs as she walks forward from one such pocket to stand unobtrusively against a wall to Magnus’s right, obviously having been called from her position at the hospital upon Alec’s arrival. Raphael Santiago, the vampire leader, melts out of yet another shadow to stand at Magnus’s left. A thin warlock, eyes narrowed in hate when she turns her attention to Alec, walks beside him. The twist of her fingers is one Alec recognizes as the gesture to close a portal, and he realizes she must have been the one to fetch Raphael from the vampire’s stronghold at the Hotel Dumort.</p><p> </p><p>The combined gaze of Magnus and his people is focused and cold, the weight of it almost physical on Alec’s shoulders as the nephilim pads silently up the stairs to the VIP platform, angling his primaries to keep them from dragging on the steps. At the first hint of the razor-sharp primaries moving, the fingers on Magnus’ left hand twitch. </p><p> </p><p>Alec immediately regrets the instinctive shift of his feathers, knowing how many Downworld throats have been slit open on nephilim wings, knowing how many times Magnus and his council must have <em> seen </em>that happen. But what’s done is done and moving them back would do nothing. Alec comes to a halt at a respectful distance from the High Warlock and waits. His arrival was without notice and is certainly unwelcome. By both nephilim and Downworld custom the next move belongs to Magnus alone. </p><p> </p><p>The olive-skinned immortal makes no move to speak for a long, terrible moment, merely looking Alec over cooly, and a wave of desperation begins to swell in Alec’s chest. This can’t have been for nothing. Before he has to decide whether to risk breaking the last remaining rule of courtesy, an electric flicker of magic seeps into Alec’s skin from Magnus’ direction, a metal tang coating his tongue. He swallows down the taste, but doesn’t speak. </p><p> </p><p>Alec is a Shadowhunter, a soldier of the Clave, and the Head of an Institute. No matter how he has twisted and bent the rules the Clave has laid down in recent years ‘to control the Downworld threat,’ he deserves whatever magic Magnus and his people feel the need to cast to protect themselves against him. Alec waits for the verdict and prays to the Angel of Mercy, an angel Alec has begun to doubt is listening to his pleas, that Magnus allows him the chance to speak. </p><p> </p><p>“Tell me, Alexander Lightwood,” Magnus begins icily, and it’s no surprise that he knows Alec’s name. “What brings the Head of the New York Institute to my door, unarmed, runes inactive, and completely alone?” </p><p> </p><p>There’s a murmur of surprise from those gathered at Alec’s back at that triple confirmation, but he takes no mind of it. He simply spares one last hope that Izzy’s information holds true, that the wording from her source is correct, and then he squares his shoulders and speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“I came to request an audience with the High Warlock that I might petition him for assistance.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a sudden stillness in the Downworlders surrounding him, and Alec dares not move. Before him, Magnus’s eyes have narrowed in disbelief and suspicion.</p><p> </p><p>“You are <em>not </em>one of my people,” he bites out, “and you have no right to ask me, to ask <em>any </em>Downworlder for aid.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Alec acknowledges grimly. “But I’m not here to ask for aid on my behalf, and I have nowhere else to turn. <em> Please </em>,” he entreats. “My brother was bitten by a Raum demon. He’s dying and I can do nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus raises an imperious hand, unmoved, and cuts off Alec’s plea. “Your people have healing runes, do you not? <em> Use them </em> and leave us be,” he commands. “I certainly shan’t be mourning one less Lightwood butchering my people if your Angel sees fit to let him die.”</p><p> </p><p>Alec doesn’t flinch, no matter how much he wants to, desperation melting into his expression and voice beginning to audibly shake. “<em> Please, </em> my brother is only nine years old. He has yet to take his first rune, and the venom is too strong for him to take it now so the Silent Brothers can treat him. A warlock’s healing is his <em> only </em> chance to live.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus doesn’t waver, voice cool and dispassionate. “How unfortunate then that the Clave outlawed paying warlocks for their services.” He raises a brow. “Unless the Lightwoods have yet again wrangled an... exception, shall we call it, from your oh so impartial law?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec swallows harshly at the reminder of his parent’s past with Valentine. The Circle is still at large, and even with Robert and Maryse’s strident declarations of newfound loyalty to the Clave, Alec often wonders how much of their renunciation was merely a function of preserving their power. </p><p> </p><p>Their ‘punishment,’ banishment from Idris while maintaining family control of the New York Institute, was a humiliating outrage to those mourning the Downworlders they had murdered without remorse.</p><p> </p><p>“Robert and Maryse are already planning Max’s funeral.” </p><p> </p><p>A flicker of emotion, barely visible, runs through the High Warlock. Alec wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been specifically looking. The Downworld <em> cherishes </em> their children, and he knows his parents’ refusal to do <em> anything </em>to save their son would be absolute anathema to them.</p><p> </p><p>Alec takes a single breath to calm his racing heart. This is the only chance Max has to live and there’s no turning back once he takes this final leap. No matter the outcome, whether the High Warlock agrees or not, Alec is about to sign his death warrant.</p><p> </p><p>“The Clave will make no allowance for him.” Alec can’t read the warlock’s expression at that, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already committed to this course. “There is nothing I can offer you worth your help. The treasuries of Idris are barred to me and my Institute has nothing of sufficient value to equal my brother’s life.” Alec takes one more breath in the heavy silence. “All I can do is beg you.”</p><p> </p><p>And before the eyes of the assembled Downworld, Alec sinks to his knees in front of the High Warlock, spreading his wings into a perfect line from tip to tip and bowing down until his forehead rests on the rough floor, barely three hand-lengths away from the boots of Magnus Bane.</p><p><br/>
“Anything that is within my power to give is yours.” Alec closes his eyes, feeling the stunned gaze of all present focused on his prostrate form. “I am begging you to save my brother. <em> Please.” </em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. and I've shortened mine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to <b>AceonIce</b> and a very wine-tipsy <b>HopeSilverheart</b> for an amazingly fabulous beta job (with much deprecation as to the difference between American and British spellings and an entirely unreasonable hatred for the word make). ❤️</p><p> Another huge thank you to <b>Aria_Lerendeair</b> for inspiring me to continue this fic and for listening to me squee about this plot and try to work out what in Edom I'm planning to write.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Magnus Bane is the High Warlock of Brooklyn, the Consular High Warlock of the Americas, and, loathe as he is to acknowledge it, the only son of Asmodeus and rightful Prince of Edom. He can’t count the number of people who have knelt before him, whether in respect or in fealty or, frankly, in fear of his judgement.</p><p> </p><p>In eight centuries, however, he’s never had a <em> nephilim </em>kneel prostrate before him. Not willingly at least. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus stands in front of his throne, his court utterly silent, and stares down at the Shadowhunter who has just broken a millennia of custom to perform ritual Obeisance  to a warlock.</p><p> </p><p>The Head of the New York Institute is waiting, perfectly motionless on the ground, folded in half over his knees so deeply his forehead is resting on the floor. Magnus doesn’t have to look to know that his hands are forming a perfect triangle beneath his brow, a nod to the angelic Trinity of their lore.</p><p> </p><p>The deadly wings he knows to have killed both uncountable demons and more than a few of his warlock kin are outspread to their full span. The razor-sharp feathers appear deceptively fragile splayed out as they are.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus has never actually observed a nephilimic ritual Obeisance  before; the custom is both ancient and intensely private. However, Magnus was raised by the Silent Brothers when this practice was carried out far more often than he knows it to be in today’s society. For all their refusal to display such total surrender in front of a Downworlder, even an orphaned warlock young as he was, the whispers were impossible to miss.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus wonders whether this young Shadowhunter knows that Magnus is fully aware of <em> precisely </em>what he’s offering by kneeling as he is in exchange for his brother’s life. </p><p> </p><p>This genuflection is no mere pretty symbol; this is ceremony and sacrament under Clave law, an oath-bound practice placing the petitioner under the absolute power of the petitioned. Placing Alexander Lightwood under the absolute power of Magnus Bane.</p><p> </p><p>The primary weapon in their fight against both demons and, more recently, the Downworld, Shadowhunters live and die by their wings. Lethally-honed flight feathers carry them into the sky, dealing an aerial death to clouds of invading demons just as easily as a single sweep of sharply edged wings can cut off limbs or slit throats if a group of Downworlders is deemed a <em> threat. </em></p><p> </p><p>Kneeling as he is, the Head of the New York Institute is spreading his wings in literal offering. In literal offering to a <em> Downworlder. </em></p><p> </p><p>Nephilim guard their wings jealously. Their wings are near impossible to injure in battle, the angles for slipping under their span and applying the necessary force a certain death trap; a suicide run with unlikely success at best. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus could take just a single step forward, a single step <em> down, </em>and for all their knife-edged sharpness the bones beneath those feathers would break just as easily as any bird.</p><p> </p><p>The nephilim guard their wings religiously and Magnus knows why. He was fostered, unwilling as it was, by the Silent Brothers. Terrified and alone after being scooped off the streets by the gruesomely maimed beings, Magnus knew well how to disappear in the shadows and pass by overlooked. He learned far more of Shadowhunters than the Silent Brothers taught him.</p><p> </p><p>Nephilim were created by their Angel to fight demons, to deal death to creatures from realms beyond the Earthly plane. Their runes can heal broken limbs in hours, bring them back from the edge of death in days. </p><p> </p><p>Their runes don’t work on wings.</p><p> </p><p>So Magnus stares down at the genuflected Shadowhunter below him. Stares down at the knife-edged primaries splayed purposefully apart to expose the downy undersides beneath, all the better for the petitioned to see the outline of bone beneath delicate flesh. All the better for the petitioned to strike with their own wings, meting out blood for blood on unprotected membranes.</p><p> </p><p>When a nephilim kneels, they expect pain. Blood for blood. A life for a life.</p><p> </p><p>Obeisance doesn’t promise that the petitioned will grant one’s request after all. Magnus can do anything to the Shadowhunter on his knees in front of him- that’s what the ritual <em> means. </em></p><p> </p><p>The very heart of the ritual is centered around acknowledgement that the petitioner has nothing of equal value to offer in exchange, nothing with which to bargain or negotiate, and instead offers anything<em>, </em> offers <em> everything, </em>in the hope and prayer of a granted plea. </p><p> </p><p>Alexander Lightwood has placed himself at Magnus’ mercy and, by law, Magnus can do <em> anything </em>he wishes whether he chooses to grant the request or not. This isn’t a trade. This is supplication.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus remembers bloody feathers clumped in gruesome masses on polished stone floors and something deep in his torso twists uncomfortably. </p><p> </p><p>“Get up,” he orders sharply, voice diamond hard. </p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of pause and it’s so obvious to Magnus that the nephilim had been bracing himself, ready for Magnus to strike, fast and hard against his people’s enemy. He wonders at the love it must take to offer oneself up so completely for another. </p><p> </p><p>There’s the slightest shuffle of feathers and the Shadowhunter doesn’t stand, but he sits up fully on his knees, back straight, hands folded in his lap, and eyes fixed desperately on Magnus’ own. His wings dip on either side of him, still stretched out to the greatest length his impressive height allows and flared deferentially.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t speak. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus considers him for a long moment. The Head of the New York Institute is outwardly resolute, waiting for Magnus to decide his fate. His life, his <em> brother’s </em>life, rests in Magnus’ hands and he knows it. The Shadowhunter’s breathing is too steady, too measured, to be anything other than carefully controlled, but Magnus can see the pulse fluttering wildly at his throat.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus’ first duty is to his people. </p><p> </p><p>The Clave has always oppressed the Downworld, twisting the teachings of Raziel on their sworn war against the demons to justify persecution against all beings who share the ‘taint’ of demon blood. Their gradual adoption in recent years of more and more of the Circle’s teachings has managed to stave off a schism that would split them in two, but it has radicalized the Shadowhunters to a level Magnus has never before seen.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus knows that his people wouldn’t say a word against him, would <em> cheer him on</em>, if he chose to bend down and rip the wings from the back of this Shadowhunter- this enforcer of the laws that have made his club one of the few remaining havens for the Downworld. They’d say <em> nothing </em>if he exacted a bloody and deserved vengeance on this desperate man before him, if he took what was offered and gave nothing in return. Two fewer Shadowhunters to murder them on the streets. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus’ first duty is to his people.</p><p> </p><p>And so Magnus stamps down his desire for retribution and flicks three fingers out in a crisp, well-practiced motion. A thread of deep blue magic whips out from his hand and wraps around Lightwood’s throat, cutting the rune on his neck in half with a collar of power. </p><p> </p><p>For the barest moment the thread is still connected to Magnus’ hand, an illusory leash, before the thread cuts itself off and the trailing end wraps neatly around the nephilim’s throat to seal with itself in a flash of light. Magnus’ magic remains visible, glowing a steady sapphire. </p><p> </p><p>As an Institute Head, Magnus knows Lightwood recognizes the spell he’s just cast, but the Shadowhunter doesn’t so much as flinch. Before the banning of payment to Downworlders, this particular truth spell was his warlock’s most requested working, not just revealing when words are untruthful, but actively forcing truth to be spoken. </p><p> </p><p>For all his earlier pretty words and unusual deference, however, Magnus had still anticipated protest.</p><p> </p><p>“Alexander Lightwood-“</p><p> </p><p>“Alec,” the nephilim interjects before immediately paling. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus tilts his head, his smile not exactly kind. “The spell sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>Alexander- Alec- nods once, slowly, barely breathing. It’s clear he hadn’t intended to correct the High Warlock as he did. He doesn’t twitch a single feather.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell me again why you’re here,” Magnus commands, taking a step back to lower himself onto his throne, never breaking eye contact with the nephilim at his feet. Magnus lounges back on rich leather, crossing his left leg over his right. Both elbows come to rest on plushly padded armrests as he steeples his hands together over his lap.</p><p> </p><p>The Shadowhunter straightens slightly on his knees, some imperceptible stiffening of shoulders reminding Magnus of a soldier coming to attention. It’s a rather impressive effect for Lightwood to achieve, kneeling as he is. </p><p> </p><p>The collar won’t allow Alec to remain silent for long though and he opens his mouth almost the instant that Magnus is settled. “Yesterday evening,” the Shadowhunter begins, “The Institute received word of a possible nest of Raum demons on the eastern edge of Battery Park. As all scheduled patrols had already been dispatched, I alerted the on-call squadron for the night.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus’ lips quirk, amused that Alec is neatly summarizing the situation for Magnus as though he’s delivering a report to his commanding officer. He’s curious if the oddity is an artifact of the spell or merely Lightwood’s normal diction.</p><p> </p><p>“The on-call squadron departed the Institute ten minutes after the report was received, and it included both my brother and parabatai, Jace Wayland, and my sister, Isabelle Lightwood.” Alec swallows, hesitating for the barest moment before continuing. “We didn’t know at the time, but our youngest sibling, Max, snuck out to follow them.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus glances down, and the collar is still glowing a steady blue. Truth.</p><p> </p><p>“Max is only nine,” Alec’s voice gains the barest hint of a plea, “he’s begun weapons training, but he hasn’t taken his first rune yet and he hasn’t begun any Institute duties.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus frowns, not quite sitting up straight, but posture significantly less relaxed. Alec sounds like he expects Magnus to <em> doubt </em> that a nine year old <em> child </em> has yet to start slaughtering demons and Downworlders alike along with the rest of his bloodthirsty race.</p><p> </p><p>He holds up an imperious hand and Alec stops immediately, firmly attuned to Magnus’ wordless signals. </p><p> </p><p>“And at what age,” Magnus drawls, “<em>does </em> your precious Clave have you start traipsing through New York with a sword in hand?” </p><p> </p><p>The nephilim blinks in front of him, clearly not having expected that query. From his perplexed expression, Magnus suspects Lightwood believes this to be common knowledge. “We begin weapons training at four and receive our first rune at ten.” </p><p> </p><p>Magnus inhales sharply. </p><p> </p><p>“There’s two years of additional training with a stele,” Lightwood continues, “and then we receive support assignments, in-Institute only, at twelve. We swear oaths to the Clave and begin taking field assignments at fourteen.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of silence, of near incomprehension, from Magnus and the surrounding Downworlders alike, before livid murmurs swell from the grouped clusters listening to every word of Magnus’ interrogation. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus glances at the nephilim’s collar to be certain, but the damning blue light has yet to waver.</p><p> </p><p>Cobalt sparks flicker, crawling over Magnus’ steepled hands and darkening dangerously with hints of crimson. He breathes deeply. Once. Twice. The sparks fade.</p><p> </p><p>Lightwood is tense beneath him, muscles still and gaze cautious. He’s not turning to look at the Downworlders murmuring and seething behind him, but Magnus knows his attention, for the first time this evening, is split. Runes inactive or not, nephilim <em> aren’t </em> human. Their muscles are stronger, their senses more acute. Magnus wonders what exactly Alec is hearing.</p><p> </p><p>He keeps his countenance carefully controlled even with the anger coursing through him, though he isn’t able to keep the frigid anger from his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Your people send children out to die, out to <em>slaughter</em>, and you call <em>my </em>people monsters?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec swallows. In any other context it would be rhetorical, but the collar forces him to answer. Forces him to answer, truthfully and fully.</p><p> </p><p>“The <em> Clave </em> demands it. I- I despise it.” Alec lifts his chin. He’s already signed his death warrant. For the first time in his life he doesn’t have to worry about remaining politic. “Your people cherish your young- I’ve seen Downworlders of all races sacrifice themselves to give a child a chance to escape danger. Mine raise child soldiers to sacrifice themselves on command.” </p><p> </p><p>Alec scoffs, but it’s more heartbroken than angry. “I know <em>perfectly</em> well who the monsters are, thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus stares at the Shadowhunter. The furious murmurs among those in attendance at Magnus’ court have ceased in sudden disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>The High Warlock settles back into his throne, truly surprised for the first time in almost a decade. </p><p> </p><p>The nephilim takes a bracing breath and Magnus wonders at Lightwood’s thoughts. As a rule, Heads of Institutes that express hesitation towards Clave policy, Heads that express <em> anything </em> other than absolute, full-throated support, die. Quickly.</p><p> </p><p>“Continue,” Magnus murmurs into the silence.</p><p> </p><p>Alec nods, pulling his full attention back to the man in front of him as he returns to Magnus’ first question. “Max followed the patrol and was able to trail them to Battery Park without detection. He- he stayed out of the fight until Shadeleaf, one of the junior Shadowhunters on the squadron was cut-off from support.” </p><p> </p><p>Alec’s lopsided smile is anguished. “He saved Shadeleaf’s life, but it’s only with your mercy that it won’t be at the cost of his own.” The Shadowhunter’s feathers tremble for the barest moment before the movement is cut off with ruthless precision. “The Clave can’t help him; we have no aid against a demon’s venom but for our runes, and taking the <em> enkela </em> is risk enough when at full health. Max won’t survive it injured.” </p><p> </p><p>Truth.</p><p> </p><p>“I swear to you that the Clave has no knowledge of my coming to you, High Warlock Bane, and I have no other intention in coming here but to beg for your help.”</p><p> </p><p> Magnus is silent for a long moment.</p><p> </p><p>“And your other siblings?” He asks idly, drumming his fingers against the armrest of his throne, opalescent flickers outlining the motion in light. “Why are they not here with you begging for my mercy?” He smirks, tight and cold, “Or are you trying to contain the damage, minimize the number of nephilim debasing themselves before a warlock?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec meets his eyes calmly, an answer ready on his tongue. </p><p> </p><p>“They were both willing.”</p><p> </p><p>“And yet you came alone.” It isn’t a question, but Magnus quirks a brow in silent invitation.</p><p> </p><p>Alec doesn’t hesitate, snapping out. “He may have been <em> born </em> of Robert and Maryse Lightwood, but he is <em> mine. </em>I raised him.”</p><p> </p><p>Truth.</p><p> </p><p>It shouldn’t surprise Magnus that Robert and Maryse Lightwood have failed so utterly at parenting that their oldest child can claim their youngest as <em> his </em>under a warlock’s spell and have it ring true. It shouldn’t, but it does. </p><p> </p><p>However, it does go a long way towards explaining this evening. This is not merely a nephilim willing to kneel in front of a warlock; this is a parent kneeling in front of the one man that can save his child.</p><p> </p><p>Alec tilts his chin up slightly, the first bit of defiance he’s displayed since walking though his doors. “He is <em> mine,” </em>and Alec’s gaze dares Magnus to contradict him.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus wonders why in Edom a Shadowhunter would think a Downworlder wouldn’t respect the fostering of a child. It’s <em> Shadowhunters </em> that pay such heed to blood.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus says nothing and something hard relaxes in Alec’s eyes, a tension releasing that the warlock hadn’t realized was present.</p><p> </p><p>“He is <em> mine</em>,” Alec says again, not challenging this time, “and, for his life, anything within my power to give is yours.”</p><p> </p><p>“Up to what point, Shadowhunter?” Magnus leans forward in his chair, voice biting. “Up to what <em> you </em> deem appropriate? Up to what the <em> Clave </em> deems appropriate?”</p><p> </p><p>The young nephilim meets his gaze squarely. “Up to my life.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s no hesitation in his voice, not even a moment, and Magnus doesn’t have to glance down to know.</p><p> </p><p>Truth.</p><p> </p><p>For all the horror in Alec’s clear and certain knowledge of what he’s willing to give for his brother- his child<em> - </em> Magnus has to be sure. If he’s wrong in judging Lightwood’s veracity, it’s <em> his </em> people that will pay the price.</p><p> </p><p>“And if I do demand a life for a life?” </p><p> </p><p>The nephilim’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I can’t change the Clave’s punishment for killing a Shadowhunter if you wish me to die at your own hands and they find out, but I won’t fight back. Or,” and Alec shrugs, seemingly unbothered. “I came unarmed, but any blade will do if you trust me enough to wield it.” </p><p> </p><p>Truth.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus breathes in slowly, not allowing himself to think too deeply at that implication. </p><p> </p><p>He presses on, unwilling to acknowledge the depth of his aversion to the thought of the Shadowhunter on his knees taking a blade to his throat. </p><p> </p><p>“Your parabatai chose to let you come alone to my Court?” He asks instead. “Knowing the magnitude of what you’re willing to trade for your brother’s life?”</p><p> </p><p>“I forbid him to come,” Alec answers simply.</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> forbid </em> him?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec smiles mirthlessly. “My last order as Head.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus has to raise an incredulous brow. Even having spoken of what Alec is <em> willing </em> to give- “You <em> expect </em> me to require your death?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter if that’s what you ask or not. If I live past tonight, the Clave will either execute me or de-rune me once they discover what I’ve done.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus stills. The only difference between those options, Magnus knows, is how fast the nephilim in front of him will die. Painful deaths, both of them. The Clave doesn’t care for dissent. They burn those they execute alive and, as a child, Magnus had <em> heard </em> the screams of agony from those they de-runed.</p><p> </p><p>(Later, much later, Magnus would leave the Brothers and see the dead anguish in unfocused eyes when he would come across nephilim, no longer Shadowhunters, collapsed uncaring in filthy alleys, silent and alone, waiting for demons to scent their unprotected blood.)</p><p> </p><p>“Shadowhunters don’t perform Obeisance  to Downworlders.” He breathes in and closes his eyes briefly, ignoring the rustling of angry observers behind him. “I signed my death warrant the moment I knelt before you, High Warlock Bane. The Clave will execute me for this no matter what price you choose. Treason, sedition, blasphemy- a number of excuses exist, but the outcome for each will be the same.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you weren’t willing to risk his death too?” Magnus eventually continues.</p><p> </p><p>Alec purses his lips, swallowing as though he would prefer not to answer. Magnus’ magic doesn’t care though.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t willing to risk leaving Izzy alone.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus tilts his head and the magic in the collar doesn’t need words to read his intention. </p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t think your answer would change whether or not my parabatai knelt here beside me or not. If the Head of the New York Institute offering Obeisance to the High Warlock of Brooklyn is insufficient to merit your mercy, what would it change if it was the Head of the Institute <em> and </em> his parabatai?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec looks up, a sudden, terrified question easy to read in his eyes, and though it certainly isn’t required of him Magnus has enough compassion to incline his head in agreement.</p><p> </p><p>“Your parabatai’s presence would have no influence on my decision.”</p><p> </p><p>Alec swallows roughly, but he doesn’t slump from the harsh seiza kneeling position he’s maintained since Magnus ordered him up from the full prostration he’d slipped into when making his plea. </p><p> </p><p>“If Jace and I came here together and you refused, we would both die, either by your hand or the Clave’s. Max would die, and my sister would be alone.” Alec pauses for the barest moment before continuing, resolute, “If you choose to refuse me now, then I die and Max dies with me, but Jace and Isabelle will have each other.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you <em>expect</em> to die,” Magnus confirms, “and yet your death is what you offer in turn for your brother’s life.” </p><p> </p><p>It isn’t a question and Alec remains silent, his breathing deliberate and disciplined.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus considers his next actions carefully. There is very little room in which to tread in the narrow valley between cruelty and rightful caution.</p><p> </p><p>“If your life is already forfeit to the Clave for your actions here,” Magnus eventually remarks, voice entirely too mild for his words, “what then do you offer <em> me?”  </em></p><p> </p><p>Magnus can see Alec tense, breath frozen in his chest and shoulders suddenly braced as if against an invisible blow.</p><p> </p><p>The collar is burning, cobalt intensifying into sapphire, and the whites are showing all around the hazel gaze locked onto Magnus’ own. The Shadowhunter knows what he believes to be more valuable to Magnus than his death. And he’s terrified.</p><p> </p><p>The Shadowhunter trembles for a bare moment, resisting the collar’s demand to speak in a display of will that belies why this nephilim is the youngest avowed Head in nearly two centuries.</p><p> </p><p>“I- I had presumed my death, in whatever manner you chose it to come, would be the highest cost you could ask me to pay.” Alec’s voice is hoarse. “But if you require a steeper cost, I have very little else to offer.” He shudders out a steadying breath.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus waits. <em> Little else </em> is not nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not spoken of, not openly, but the Clave has a long memory,” Alec starts. Magnus remains silent, waiting for the nephilim to reach his point. “Before the Circle, before the Accords, it was rumored-“ Alec breaks off, swallowing nervously, hesitant to continue.</p><p> </p><p>The collar around his throat, however, will not allow equivocation. “It was rumored that there was a way for warlocks to increase their power- only <em> one </em>way, actually.” A final second of pause. “Virgin nephilim energy.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus is helpless against both his brows raising in incredulity. He says nothing though, waiting to see the direction Alec takes his offer.</p><p> </p><p>“Our oldest records say that centuries ago, after battles when the Downworld won and the Clave was unable to recover our injured, warlocks would comb through the fallen for those whose energy was pure. If they found any, they would take our wings, our source of power, for their own.” </p><p> </p><p>For the first time since arriving, the Shadowhunter in front of him is not perfectly resolute. Lightwood is unyielding, he’ll offer whatever it is he thinks Magnus wants, but <em> death </em> is clean. It’s clear whatever Alec believes he can proffer in its stead, is <em> not </em>. </p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Alec squares his shoulders, bracing himself to continue. “I am- I am untouched.” Magnus very, very carefully does not react. “And I know power is always greater when it is given willingly.” </p><p> </p><p>The nephilim sucks in a harsh breath and Magnus wills him not to continue where this is appearing to lead, a fog of fury descending on his brain.</p><p> </p><p>“I have offered you Obeisance, High Warlock. Whatever you wish of me is yours, willingly, be it my wings, or- or <em> that </em>,” the nephilim can’t even say the words, “or both.”</p><p> </p><p>Truth.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus makes a small, sharp gesture with his hand to keep Catarina silent behind him. Her outrage is near palpable, and if she were anything but a warlock Magnus has no doubts that she’d be growling, fangs down in threat or eyes amber in disgust.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus is just as enraged. There are very, very few alive who can remember those battles; it’s been near seven centuries since the Downworld has taken to open war against the Clave. Magnus, fresh out of both Edom and his father’s lessons in battle magic and pain, had been a force unto himself on those battlefields. </p><p> </p><p>Downworlders had flocked to the protection offered under his banner, and, while the location of his home may have changed, Magnus has held his people’s trust, held his title and his <em> throne, </em>ever since.</p><p> </p><p>Warlock’s magic alone is not enough to permanently ward his people’s homes and buildings against the nephilim’s entry. A nephilim’s power, their energy and their intrinsic magic, is a necessary part of the warding ritual, a rule of magic that has yet to be violated no matter how much effort the Spiral Labyrinth has spent in trying. </p><p> </p><p>And a nephilim’s power is housed in their wings, a single feather sufficient to ward a home for a decade at least.</p><p> </p><p>His people combed the battlefields of the fallen, yes, but they only took from the dead. </p><p> </p><p>Feathers attained from corpses, however, were nowhere near enough to justify the Clave’s ensuing mandate; their open call for Shadowhunters to hunt Downworlders and carve their marks from screaming bodies. </p><p> </p><p>The Clave had spun a tale, a knowing falsehood preying on the nephilim’s sacred mores. <em> Virgin </em> energy, they said, raping the dying to steal their power, wicked demon scum ripping the wings from desecrated flesh.</p><p> </p><p>It only took a few careful rumors, a few careful sacrifices, for the nephilim to believe. </p><p> </p><p>Alec is still kneeling at his feet, a prey animal trapped under the cobra’s gaze, and Magnus knows now what the Shadowhunter expects to happen.</p><p> </p><p>If Magnus deems his death insufficient, Alec would have been taught he has only one other thing left to give, one other thing of <em> value </em>to a warlock. Something Magnus has seen more nephilim than he can count slit their own throats to avoid, a dishonor their culture teaches is the final humiliation, a fate to which death at their own hand is far preferable. </p><p> </p><p>A fate the Head of the New York Institute has just offered willingly for his brother’s life. </p><p> </p><p>The collar glows a steady blue.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus breathes slowly, banking his fury. He is the High Consular Warlock and he cannot allow his judgement to be clouded.</p><p> </p><p>The Head of the New York Institute, the Head of the third largest Institute on the globe and an immensely influential member of the Clave is his own right, is offering Obeisance to <em> him, </em> and Magnus has an obligation to his people to use this to their fullest advantage. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus has lived eight centuries under Clave rule. He knows this is an opportunity that will never occur again. </p><p> </p><p>He has an obligation to his people, and yet, he cannot let this stand. </p><p> </p><p>“Your records <em>lie,</em>” Magnus states flatly. “Virgin energy in Downworld culture has nothing to do with your culture’s backwards and demeaning misconceptions of sex and purity. My people have never <em>raped</em> yours in search of power.” Magnus’ words are clipped and short. </p><p> </p><p>“The Clave took a sacred concept in our world and twisted it to the filth and <em> blasphemy </em> you spout as truth.” He pauses, breathing deeply. He knows his eyes are flashing in anger, a tell of his power he normally tries to hide. “Virgin energy is energy from one that has never shared themselves in magical union. Nothing else.”</p><p> </p><p>Lightwood is too controlled, too used to standing as leader and strength for his people, to allow himself to slump in relief. His eyes don’t hide it though. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus exhales slowly.</p><p> </p><p>Rape, mutilation, and death. That’s what this nephilim expects of him in turn for the healing of a nine year old child.</p><p> </p><p>Since the moment Alec knelt before him, Magnus has been calculating. The death, the <em> pain, </em>of one who has done such harm to his people would inflict a measure of vengeance, of justice, that the Downworld is so rarely given an opportunity to exact. </p><p> </p><p>However, Lightwood is not offering these actions in <em> trade, </em>he knows that offer isn’t equal. Life is always worth more than death. </p><p> </p><p>Lightwood is offering his <em> Obeisance </em> instead<em>, </em> a prayer and a plea for his brother’s life<em>, </em>for whatever clemency Magnus chooses to give. </p><p> </p><p>The collar burns a steady blue. Lightwood means this offering sincerely, he’s throwing himself upon Magnus’ mercy in the truest sense of the word and Magnus’ stomach twists.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll heal your brother.”</p><p> </p><p>There’s a rustle behind him from his council and the nephilim folds back over his knees until his forehead touches the ground once more, wings flaring out in unconscious display. “Thank you,” he breathes, feathers quivering visibly so hard is he shaking in relief. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus’ lips press together in a tight, unhappy line.</p><p> </p><p>Alec doesn’t ask the cost. Whatever it is, he’s already agreed to pay it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Really Sad One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Max is healed and the Lightwood siblings say goodbye.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Special shout-out to <b>TruffulaFlowersAndLilyPads</b> and <b>ittybittychickpea</b> for their perfectly timed comments that gave me the inspiration to finish this chapter. :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Magnus hears the shifting steps and the rustling of clothes coming from behind him, his council clearly displeased, uncertain at what Magnus has chosen for his price. Pieces are shifting in Magnus’ head though, a thread of an idea coming together as he looks down at the nephilim before him.</p><p> </p><p>The Shadowhunter is still prostrate on the ground, forehead pressed into the polished concrete of Pandemonium’s floor in thanks, and something in Magnus’ stomach turns at the sight.</p><p> </p><p>“Get up,” he orders sharply.</p><p> </p><p>Alec scrambles to obey. </p><p> </p><p>Once on his feet, the nephilim stumbles for a brief moment, unsure what to do with his hands until he ends up in an oddly stiff parade rest, adrenaline clearly humming through his veins at the prospect of his brother being saved.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus turns to Elias, Pandemonium’s manager and the only one capable of adjusting the building's wards when Magnus isn’t present. “Once I leave, lock down everything,” he orders, not bothering to lower his voice. “Keep everyone here until we return.” </p><p> </p><p>Magnus pauses, thinking. “No communication either,” he adds, “mundane or otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s not certain yet, not truly, if the whisper of a plan forming in his head can work, but it will be out of the question the moment word of Alec’s rebellion from the Clave becomes known.</p><p> </p><p>Elias nods in affirmation of his orders. Magnus doesn’t often wield his authority with a heavy hand, much preferring the nudges and suggestions he can get away with in a court as informal as Pandemonium. When he does give such orders, however, his word is unquestioned. </p><p> </p><p>The New York Downworld is well aware of how close they came to destruction at the Clave’s hand before Magnus united them so many decades ago.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus turns his gaze to Cat next where she stands at his side. With her magic as highly specialized as it is, his friend is one of the strongest healers in the country, by far the strongest one present tonight. If Magnus can’t fully heal the nephilim’s brother with brute power alone, Cat’s delicate touch will be necessary to complete the job.</p><p> </p><p>Anger is shimmering in her dark eyes though, attention unwavering from the waiting nephilim. A healer as she is, Cat has had the closest view of the Shadowhunter’s increasing brutality over the years. Her opinion of the Clave is as close to hate as Magnus has ever known from the usually compassionate woman.</p><p> </p><p>“Catarina?” He questions, not actually asking.</p><p> </p><p>Her lips tighten, dark skin lightening from the pressure, but she nods shortly. She won’t protest.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus turns again to Alec, the Shadowhunter’s gaze locked on him in a relief so strong it’s nearly tangible.</p><p> </p><p>“Is he in the Institute?” Magnus questions.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Alec responds immediately. </p><p> </p><p>Something in Magnus’ chest loosens. His idea wouldn’t have survived the necessity of getting past the Institute’s wards. He could do it, yes, likely even without notice, but the release of magic necessary to heal an injury of this magnitude could not be hidden.</p><p> </p><p>“We took him to a safe house,” Alec continues. “Just- just in case.” And by the look in his eyes it’s so very obvious that even though they’d prepared for it, they hadn’t truly dared to hope Magnus would agree.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus tilts his head. A safe house would be easier to deal with, but not if it’s tied into the same ward matrix as the Institute. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it one of the Institute safe houses?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec shakes his head. “One of ours. Uh- I mean, one that my siblings and I set up for ourselves.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus lifts a perfectly manicured brow. </p><p> </p><p>Alec flushes lightly, but the collar of Magnus’ power is still wrapped around his throat, forcing him to answer even if the question wasn’t verbal. “The Institute can be stifling- we, sometimes we just needed a place to go.” The collar is still burning though and Magnus waits for the rest of the answer. “Sometimes- sometimes we weren’t sure who to trust,” Alec eventually admits.</p><p> </p><p>The answer opens as many questions as it answers, but Magnus lets it go for now. He nods and twists his hand, tearing a shimmering gash in the fabric of reality. </p><p> </p><p>“Think of where they are,” he instructs. The nephilim straightens up, eyes sharpening as he stares wide-eyed at the amorphous edges of Magnus’ power undulating in the air.</p><p> </p><p>Born as he was after the withdrawal of the Downworld from even the barest hint of Clave cooperation, it’s likely the first undirected portal he’s ever seen, Magnus realizes.</p><p> </p><p>“Just picture your siblings. Focus on the details of where they are- think about where the portal will open in the room,” Magnus clarifies. “Once you step through, the portal will stabilize and we can follow.”</p><p> </p><p>Alec nods and moves forward. </p><p> </p><p>“Alexander,” Magnus stops him suddenly, the single word lashing out as a diamond-hard command. </p><p> </p><p>Alec turns, startled.</p><p> </p><p>“Will there be any<em>thing </em> or any<em>one </em>waiting for us on the other side of this portal except for your siblings?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec breathes in sharply, eyes fear-wide. “No! I swear to you, High Warlock Bane, my only aim here is to save Max’s life- I swear there will be nothing waiting on the other side of this portal except Max and Izzy and Jace- I-”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus holds up a hand to silence him, glancing down out of habit. The collar is still perfectly blue. Truth. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t expected anything else, but not confirming would have been utterly foolish.</p><p> </p><p>“Go then,” he says. “Catarina and I will follow right behind you.”</p><p> </p><p>Swallowing, the nephilim slows his breathing from the sudden frantic tempo, calming from the moment when he’d clearly thought Magnus was planning to retract his agreement. </p><p> </p><p>One last look back and the dark-haired Shadowhunter disappears into the shimmer of Magnus’ magic.</p><p> </p><p>Catarina looks over at Magnus as the portal stabilizes for general use, the amorphous tear solidifying into a sapphire and violet door.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you certain about this?” She asks lowly, her voice for Magnus alone.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus considers for a moment, owing her the most truthful answer he can give. “Not yet,” he admits. “But, I think this could be the first possibility for hope we’ve had in twenty years.”</p><p> </p><p>Cat stares at him, trying to guess what he’s thinking.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus doesn’t respond, not ready to share just yet.</p><p> </p><p>Cat quirks her lips, accepting that for now. “If you get me killed tonight,” she eventually says tartly, striding towards the portal, “I will haunt you for the rest of eternity.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus barks out a quick laugh, Cat’s humor not usually running to the macabre, before following her though, portal winking closed behind them.</p><p>
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</p><p>__________________________</p><p>
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</p><p>Magnus and Cat arrive through the portal in quick sequence. </p><p> </p><p>Cat steps through first, the seeds of a shield spell already glimmering in her palms, and Magnus comes a mere half-breath later, magic coiled tight and warm in his chest. Alec hadn’t lied, <em> couldn’t </em>lie under Magnus’ spell, but that didn’t preclude one of his siblings from changing the plan without his knowledge.</p><p> </p><p>(There was a lot the Clave would forgive if the requester arrived with <em> Magnus Bane </em> bound at their feet.)</p><p> </p><p>Alec is already wrapped tightly in the arms of a slender woman, her dark hair nearly fully shielding his face from view. Her own face is clearly visible and the naked relief in her eyes is painful to see.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus isn’t certain what he had pictured when Alec had said his siblings were in a safe house, but this wasn’t it. The building is clearly an abandoned warehouse, the damp chill in the air making Magnus suspect that they’ve traveled very close to one of the industrial docks in the city.</p><p> </p><p>The building has likely been empty for decades and the siblings have rigged a somewhat secluded area in one of the corners with a series of dusty tarps and some creative positioning of machinery remnants. </p><p> </p><p>The tarps shield them from anyone looking in from the transom style windows on the upper levels, the far too few openings letting in a paltry amount of light from the dying sun. In the corner behind where Alec is entwined with his sister, Magnus can see a pallet on the floor, a small figure lying within. </p><p> </p><p>The bed is clean, the linens appearing warm and soft, but it’s still a single air mattress on a concrete floor, albeit a concrete floor scrubbed clean enough that the line between the siblings little area and the rest of the warehouse is easily delineated by the change in cement color.</p><p> </p><p>Next to the bed there’s some rudimentary storage: a large first aid kit, some sealed energy bars, and several books- mundane, judging by the covers. The Clave having banned non-approved reading material years ago, Magnus raises a brow at the very illegal sight. </p><p> </p><p>There’s some pillows strewn about too, large enough to lounge on, and what looks to be old Christmas lights strung under the opaque tarps to provide enough light to read by. The space quite obviously wasn’t put together just for today. It’s oddly homey, pieced together bits and pieces at a time, and the runes for safety and heat burned into the floor look to have been carefully maintained over <em> years</em>.</p><p> </p><p>The space is clearly less of a true safe house and more an escape for the young Shadowhunters in front of him. Magnus frowns, wondering what would cause <em> this </em> sad, scraped-together space to be so well-utilized when one of its creators is the <em> Head </em> of the <em> New York Institute. </em></p><p> </p><p>Magnus keeps his attention on the situation at hand though, studying the tiny, winged nephilim tucked into the massive pile of blankets on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>From Alec’s testimony, Magnus knows the boy, Max, is nine years old. Without that information however, Magnus would have guessed much younger. Magnus glances to Cat at his side and sees the anger cooling slightly in her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>She’s been called far too many times to make-shift shelters like this, healing Downworlders of all factions on the run from the Shadowhunters. Seeing just how young the boy on the bed is has to be tugging on her heartstrings, for all that the family around him is branded as belonging to the Clave.</p><p> </p><p>On his knees next to the mattress is a blond teen, a few years younger than Alec. His eyes are red-rimmed, as all of theirs are, and one of his hands is clenched tightly around the slack hand of the boy on the bed.</p><p> </p><p>His other hand hovers over the hilt of a seraph blade holstered at his thigh, muscles clearly still tensed in preparation to spring up if anyone unexpected had come through the portal. The mismatched eyes linger on Magnus, who he clearly recognizes, and Cat, who he clearly doesn’t, before turning to Alec.</p><p> </p><p>He swallows harshly when his eyes fall to the collar of cobalt power still ringed around his brother’s throat. He doesn’t say anything in protest though and slowly moves his hand away from his weapon, loosening his muscles and sinking back down onto his heels.</p><p> </p><p>He remains silent.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus clears his throat and Alec untangles himself from his sister, Isabelle only reluctantly releasing him from her hold.</p><p> </p><p>“Max?” Magnus questions, inclining his head to the child in question. </p><p> </p><p>Alec nods mutely, stepping aside to clear a path to the bed. “He was still conscious when I left,” Alec murmurs, looking at Jace with terrified eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“He fell asleep about five minutes afterwards,” Jace explains, his voice tight as he continues. “We can’t get him to wake up now.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus can <em> hear </em> the fear and desperation in that sentence.</p><p> </p><p>Cat breathes in sharply, clearly having made a decision about the siblings’ truthfulness in asking for help. </p><p> </p><p>They aren’t faking. Not this part at least.</p><p> </p><p>Her heels click as she strides over to the mattress, kneeling down on the other side of the bed from Jace. She reaches out a single hand cloaked in the pale blue of her magic when it’s focused on healing, hovering it over Max’s head. </p><p> </p><p>“How long has his fever been this high?” She asks, voice clinical and a little detached as she sweeps her magic over the young boy in a familiar scan. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus himself walks over to kneel down beside her even as Alec responds.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been low-grade since almost immediately after the injury, but it spiked this morning. We were able to bring it down with ice-packs at first, but they stopped working about four hours ago.”</p><p> </p><p>The siblings fall silent as Magnus joins his magic to Catarina’s, sharing the scan results between them. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus frowns. If the injury had been treated shortly after it happened, it would have been a simple fix. Now, however, Magnus honestly isn’t sure if he and Cat have enough strength between them.</p><p> </p><p>He shares a look with his oldest friend. Max’s body is already shutting down, organs beginning to fail and the heat of his fever on the verge of making him seize.</p><p> </p><p>Across from them, Jace must see how bad it is from their expressions. </p><p> </p><p>“You- you can save him though, right?” Jace asks, breathing uneven, the beginnings of a sob in his voice. </p><p> </p><p><em> You can make this worth my parabatai’s life, right? </em>Magnus hears unspoken. </p><p> </p><p>Cat purses her lips, withdrawing her magic back into her skin. She breathes for a moment, considering.</p><p> </p><p>“The infection from the venom is systemic,” she says. “And Max’s body doesn’t have the reserves an adult’s would to fight it off.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?” Jace asks, <em> begs</em>, for an answer. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus takes over. “It’s going to be a question of power,” he explains. “Both how much we can give and how much he can take.”</p><p> </p><p>Behind them, Alec is trembling where he stands. “<em>Please,” </em>is all he says.</p><p> </p><p>Alec stumbles over to where his parabatai is kneeling, sinking to the ground next to him and covering Jace’s hand where it holds Max’s with his own.</p><p> </p><p>Isabelle chooses to kneel at the foot of the bed, one graceful hand coming to rest over her youngest brother’s blanket-clad ankle. </p><p> </p><p>There’s a moment of silence as Magnus and Cat prepare- they’ve worked together for so many years that words aren’t needed as they shift and gather magic in their hands. For an injury left this long unattended, Magnus will lead, using his raw power to burn through the infection and incinerate as much of the venom as he can. </p><p> </p><p>Cat will follow, her healing far better able to handle the delicate and tricky work of shoring up the body's defenses and patching together the parts where the healing has wreaked just as much damage as the injury itself.</p><p> </p><p>With a final bracing breath, Magnus sinks his power into Max’s too-still body and begins. The venom is entrenched in the child’s bloodstream, traces of it in every system and every centimeter of space that Magnus finds. The demand of keeping his power burning hot enough to destroy the venom and cool enough not to irreparably harm living flesh makes sweat break out on Magnus’ forehead within seconds, the constraints of working in this way requiring an unfathomable amount of energy be poured into the task before him.</p><p> </p><p>“Magnus?” Cat asks worriedly, reading the strain on his face.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s nearly too far gone,” Magnus grinds out, voice already labored. “The venom is <em> everywhere</em>. I- I’m not certain I have enough energy to finish.” </p><p> </p><p>There’s not even a moment of pause before a bow-callused hand is hovering over Magnus’ own, heedless of the flickering embers of power crawling over his skin.</p><p> </p><p>“Take mine,” Alec offers, no trace of hesitation in his voice. “Whatever you need.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus looks up, blinking, already certain the glamour over his eyes has fallen. Even under the terms of Obeisance, he refuses to take power shared unwillingly. Sharing power is an intimate act, the forcing of which is an abomination the Downworld has never countenanced, no matter the lies spread by the Clave. </p><p> </p><p>There’s no doubt in Alec’s eyes however, just absolute certainty. </p><p> </p><p>There’s not enough time to pause any longer, so Magnus clasps Alec’s surprisingly warm hand within his own and opens himself to Alec’s strength. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a struggle not to react as Alec opens himself to him in turn. Magnus had expected the power he received to pound through his veins in stinging pain as it has the rare times he’s shared with nephilim in the distant past, angelic energy an icy dichotomy to his own. He usually has to fight to draw it into himself, biting back the ache it causes.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t have to fight for it now though. Alec’s strength floods through him of its own accord, a cooling deluge in the fire of his power. Alec’s core is laid open before him and it’s so very clear in that single action that Alec’s power is virgin, completely unshared. Core unguarded, Magnus could reach out and take anything, <em> everything, </em>without pause. Alec’s power is shaping itself to him, forming itself in Magnus’ image, and Magnus can barely breathe as it works with his magic in perfect synchronicity.</p><p> </p><p><em> This </em>is why virgin energy is so prized. That malleability has ensured Alec’s strength will never work for another as perfectly as it does for Magnus and he revels in the ease and simplicity with which their combined energies flow through Max’s body, venom vaporizing in their path. </p><p> </p><p>More than that though, Alec’s power feels warm and perfect and <em> soothing, </em>seeping into the gaps and spaces in Magnus’ core with incomprehensible precision, delicate even as it smooths long-formed fractures to wholeness. Magnus feels Cat’s magic surge, healing following in the path Magnus and Alec have wrought, the venom gone, and slowly, regretfully, he withdraws his magic to let her work.</p><p> </p><p>Alec’s power begins to trickle out from where it's taken up residence in Magnus’ core and Magnus <em> mourns </em> the loss, his magic following the path Alec’s is taking back to his own body without permission. Magnus has to tug it back sharply and the loss of that perfect feeling <em> hurts. </em></p><p> </p><p>Their connection severed, he stares at Alec for a too-long moment, nonplussed, as Catarina finishes the healing. </p><p> </p><p>The attention of every other person in the room is on Max alone though and no one notices Magnus’ lapse. <em> That </em>should not have been possible.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus blinks himself back to his impassive facade as Cat straightens up where she’s bent over Max’s still form. </p><p> </p><p>“Almost done,” she says, a small smile in her voice as she looks at the young boy’s face. For all her loathing of Shadowhunters, it’s hard to picture this child as what he will one day become instead of the innocent he is now.</p><p> </p><p>“You,” Cat nods her chin at Alec, her voice sharper directed at him as she gestures to the wall behind her. “Over there,” she commands.</p><p> </p><p>Alec draws in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t dare argue. </p><p> </p><p>It looks like it physically pains him to release his brother’s hand, but he slowly uncurls their fingers and stands up from the ground, moving without hesitation to stand, back to the wall, where Catarina had indicated. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus doesn’t need to be told to join him. Catarina hadn’t bothered to explain, but his and Alec’s powers are still surging and fluctuating from the sharing- far too erratically to be so close when she performs the final checkover. </p><p> </p><p>Her power is visible once more, a pale aquamarine sheet over Max’s body.</p><p> </p><p>Jace and Izzy remain where they are, keeping close watch on Max, but the two glance over at their eldest brother when he stands and their fear is evident in the white tension of their lips. </p><p> </p><p>Her final examination complete, Catarina tells them Max will undoubtedly wake up shortly and there’s an audible sob of relief from Isabelle. Jace folds over to rest his forehead where his and Max’s hands are still clasped, shoulders quivering but otherwise silent.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus glances to his side, unsurprised to find a wet shimmer in Alec’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Cat moves from the bed, leaving Jace and Isabelle with their brother and approaching Magnus and Alec where they stand, just removed enough that it’s unlikely the other group will be able to hear their words.</p><p> </p><p>The Shadowhunter is staring longingly at the trio in front of him, hands locked behind his back in a seeming attempt to restrain himself from running forward. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus blinks at him, slightly perplexed at why he remains where he is before realizing that he had taken Cat’s order at face value. Even now, Max healed, the nephilim is holding to the terms of Obeisance, waiting for <em> permission </em>before doing anything other than what he’s been told. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus clears his throat and Alec tears his gaze from his youngest brother’s face and turns to the two warlocks. He swallows roughly and speaks before Magnus can say a word. “I know I have no right at all to ask for anything else, but may I make two requests, please?”</p><p> </p><p>Catarina narrows her eyes in immediate suspicion, still wary of the Shadowhunter’s intentions, not truly believing he means to keep to his promise. Magnus, still shocked by the intensity of their sharing moments earlier, frowns, holding up a single hand to stop Cat from protesting. </p><p> </p><p>“Speak,” he directs at Alec.</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever you choose as the price for this, and,” Alec turns his eyes back to his siblings for a telling moment, “no matter what you choose, his life is so much more than worth it, but please don’t make me pay it here. Don’t make them watch.” He swallows. “Please.”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus freezes, breath catching at the horrible implication buried in that request. He nods tightly though, words stuck in his throat, and Alec melts in relief.  </p><p> </p><p>Cat speaks next, still thinking the nephilim cannot possibly mean what he has said. “… And?”</p><p> </p><p>Alec keeps his gaze on the two of them only, not daring to look behind him. He hesitates for the first time, his voice breaking. “Would you let me say goodbye?”</p><p> </p><p>Magnus breathes again, slow and controlled. He’s not sure if Alec’s expectations are a result of the Claves’s opinion of Downworld morality, or lack thereof, or if Alec had expected not to be allowed this final comfort as a result of what he’s seen his <em> own </em> people do after the offering of Obeisance. </p><p> </p><p>He’s not sure he wants to know. </p><p> </p><p>Magnus nods shortly in permission.</p><p> </p><p>Alec turns and Isabelle is already moving towards him as she must have the first time, flinging her arms around her brother when they meet near the foot of the bed and burying her head in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Alec tucks her under his chin and murmurs soothing words into her hair. Magnus can’t see her tears, but it’s evident she knows the price Alec expects to shortly be paying. They cling to each other for long moments, the quivering of the feathers on Isabelle’s wings the only outward sign of her sobs. </p><p> </p><p>Eventually, Alec whispers something into her ear softly enough that it doesn’t carry beyond them. She loosens her grip where she’s clenched her hands in Alec’s shirt and the two draw apart just enough that Isabelle’s face is once more visible. Alec brings up one hand to cradle the side of her face and she presses his palm to her skin with a desperate hold.</p><p> </p><p>Alec’s final words to his sister are simple, one last reminder of his love, but the tender caress of her cheek as he steps away is infinitely gentle. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a bare half-step to the side of the bed where Alec can kneel down next to Max’s unconscious form, directly across from where his parabatai has yet to move. </p><p> </p><p>Alec moves with hesitant caution, tugging his youngest brother up in his arms and tucking Max’s head easily into the crook of his shoulder, one hand coming up to stroke Max’s baby fine hair. It’s so very clear that Alec is the person who has <em>raised </em>this child and <em>loved</em> him as his own when the Shadowhunter presses a gentle kiss to the top of Max’s head, eyes clenching shut in gratitude as Max sighs softly in his sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Alec keeps Max in his arms for another long moment before he gently eases him back down to the bed, bringing up the covers to his chin and tracing the sleeping boy’s face with his eyes, memorizing it for the last time.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, he turns his gaze to his parabatai. </p><p> </p><p>Jace has remained kneeling at Max’s side since they arrived, but now, for the first time, he releases Max’s hand and stands, eyes fixed on Alec’s.</p><p> </p><p>They meet at the foot of the bed, no words spoken between them. Magnus can see the toll the last few days have taken on the blond nephilim. There are deep shadows under his red-rimmed eyes and something haunted deep in his gaze. </p><p> </p><p>The two are silent for several breaths, just staring, before Jace’s expression abruptly crumples and the two fall into each other, burying heads in shoulders and twining their arms and wings around each other tightly enough to bruise even with nephilim healing. </p><p> </p><p>They stay that way for several long moments until they draw apart just enough to press themselves forehead to forehead, eyes clenched tightly shut. Jace is mouthing something softly enough that it’s likely barely a whisper even to Alec. </p><p> </p><p>As much as he wants to give them their privacy, Magnus can’t risk it. Not yet.</p><p> </p><p>A twist of magic brings the words to him and Catarina, and Magnus’ heart clenches as he recognizes it as the words of the parabatai oath. </p><p> </p><p>When Jace reaches the promise that naught but death will part thee and me, tears streak openly down the blonde’s cheeks until Alec pulls back and gently cups his face, wiping the wetness away with his thumbs. He doesn’t say anything, but he leans down to press a warm kiss, a final benediction, on Jace’s forehead. </p><p> </p><p>“Take care of them,” Alec both asks and commands, thumbs still stroking a soothing path across Jace’s cheekbones.</p><p> </p><p>Jace blinks watery eyes for a long minute before nodding his head in affirmation.</p><p> </p><p>Alec takes in a deep breath before dipping his chin once, sharply, in affirmation and lowering his hands.</p><p> </p><p>The Shadowhunter turns, straightening his back and walking over to the waiting warlocks. He refuses to look behind him even as Jace and Isabelle’s desperate gazes are locked on his back, knowing that this is the last moment they’ll see their brother alive. </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” Alec says as he reaches them. The Shadowhunter swallows, but keeps his voice steady. “I’m ready now.” </p><p> </p><p>Neither Cat nor Magnus reply, and something hurts, deep in Magnus’ chest, when he realizes that Alec truly means what he's said.</p><p> </p><p>Magnus snaps a portal into existence without a word.</p><p> </p><p>Cat goes through first and Magnus gestures to the stoic nephilim after she disappears from view.</p><p> </p><p>Alec doesn’t look back at his siblings as he steps forward, Magnus following a half-step later.</p><p> </p><p>The portal closes before Magnus can identify the source of the stifled sob behind them.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This was originally intended to be a one-shot, but y'all can blame <b>Aria_Lerendeair</b> for this continuation as she literally yelled inspiration at me on Discord until I agreed to write a sequel. ;)</p><p>Thanks to the Malec server for all the inspiration and sprint-buddies, not to mention giving me the idea to bring in virgin shadowhunter energy lol.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>EDIT OCT 1, 2020:</b></p><p> </p><p>My lovely readers:</p><p>I cannot tell you how much your continued support and comments have meant to me over the time I’ve been posting. I look forward to reading what you think so much, and there’s certain long-time followers whose names practically give me heart palpitations of glee when I see their comments pop up in my inbox. Your comments have lifted me when I’ve been feeling down, motivated me to write when I was lacking inspiration, and often make me swap things up in my plots because you’ve told me how much you like something I’d thrown in on a whim in an earlier chapter. Please know that this next bit is not meant for you.</p><p>In the last few weeks I’ve had a series of (mostly anon) readers (mostly on a different fic) leave comments that have been unpleasant to say the least. I’ve been lucky enough to escape outright hate comments so far, but from now on I want to be clear that my comment section does <i>not</i> welcome criticism, constructive or otherwise, or just general negativity, including comments that are solely a demand for an update. I <i>promise</i> I know the difference between “please update soon!”, which is lovely and fine, and what I mean by an update demand. For example, please don’t ask when I’m going to update because you don’t  “want to waste [your] time” if it’s going to be much longer.</p><p>I adore interacting with you all in my comment section so much. I <i>love</i> hearing what parts you liked the best, reading what lines you copy and paste into a comment that you particularly enjoyed, and I love sharing additional head canons or sequel plans in response. Comments are a huge part of why I continue to write. They make my day! I don’t want to make anyone anxious about commenting or anything like that, but, please, if you’re going to comment? Be nice. </p><p>All my love,<br/>Laws</p><div class="center">
  <p>❤️🌻❤️Kudos make me smile, but comments make my day!! ❤️🌻❤️</p>
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